


and they were children

by afinch



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, trick or treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:39:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afinch/pseuds/afinch
Summary: Lyra knows better than to go to the catacombs.





	and they were children

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phoxinus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoxinus/gifts).



Lyra wasn't nervous about school and the other girls; she'd held her own against far worse. She was nervous about impressing Dame Hannah.

"That's the same thing," Pantalaimon said, haughtily. He was however, dutifully curled around her neck, his tail sweeping across her throat so that he formed an almost complete circle. "Besides, sometimes I see Angelica and the others in their faces."

"Hush, Pan," chided Lyra, who would never admit - not even to her daemon - that she felt the same way. It was true, when they all moved as one when they were dismissed from class, a knot of fear would briefly creep up her stomach to her throat and she'd make sure she had a hand on Pan. 

For the rest of the time, the young women were nice, and eager to get to know her. They'd heard stories, they told her, and they wanted to know if they were true. Was it true she'd ridden on a dragon across the sky to another world and fought with God? Was it true she took another little boy with her and offered him as a blood sacrifice like Abram to find favour? Was it true she was a witch? Did she put a spell on the Magisterium, is that why they were talking about letting theologians work independently? Couldn't she commune with the dead?

It was this last idea that took hold, long and deep inside the others and they wouldn't let it go. No matter her protests, someone always had another anecdote from her life about the things she could have done. To get away, she found solace in the old books section of the Library, where scholars who hadn't seen daylight in weeks peeked wearily at her, but said nothing. 

She was joined one day, much to her fear and surprise, by Dame Hannah.

"Ah," she said. "You're not off to the catacombs to try to speak to the scholars of old?"

Lyra bit her lip; she'd been asked to join, and then, after declining, asked to say nothing about it. She could have done it, with anyone but Dame Hannah. 

"They'll figure out soon enough they shouldn't be playing pretense with matters of death and life," Lyra said, trying to sound nonchalant about it. 

Dame Hannah laughed, "Lessons from the early life of Miss Silvertongue?"

And Lyra flushed. She was, on all official accounts and papers, still Belacqua and thus entitled to the Belacqua and Coulter estates, but Dame Hannah had called her Silvertongue from the moment Lyra had asked her too. Still, Dame Hannah's laugh was as soothing as it was hoarse and scratchy, the laugh of an old woman who has spoken many words across her lifetime. 

Lyra recovered and smiled back, "Let's just say if it's anything like the catacombs at Jordan, they're in for a rough night."

The conversation shifted then, to Lyra's immense relief, to what on earth she was studying this deep in the library. Many hours later, full on the euphoric high of having shared and been shared knowledge, she made her way back to the dormitories.

In the morning, she sat at breakfast with Pan drapped casually around her neck, his tail lazily drifting down her side, and sipped her tea while sharing knowing glances with Dame Hannah as the other young women, some still looking white with fright, stumbled late and dustilly into the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> Trick or treat! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
